Columbo: Walk a Milton in One's Shoes
by Rubinia
Summary: It's 2004 and L.A. police forces would work way smoother if they still had Lieutenant Columbo at their disposal, Homicide district. No known lost case. So why deny them?


"No doubt it was a murder." Lieutant said, glancing up at the body of poor fellow. Two policemen were having a trouble with chalk-marking the place where the corpse was found. The third man meticulously bordered around handfull of intesties on the concrete floor.

Lieutant bent over slowly deteriorating, but still quite vivid open flame. Some amount of flammable liquid, petrol perhaps, was buring like a primitive fire barrier originally preventing anyone from reaching upper catwalk. Columbo lighted his cigar and stepped a bit back, where stand in nearly relaxed way by a solid pillar. The old warehouse interior was crowded by cops, flash and clicks of many photoes being made, grey powder and gentle thick brushes in use to get all fingerprints possibly left.

Lieutant rushed in short decisive steps towards the wall near the entrance. There, a number of large and medium crates and boxes were piled in messy way. Construction was of questionable stability, yet high enough to reach the upper catwalk if the necessity occures. One need to be quite an athlete to go all way there.

Lieutant shifted with one leg a small pallete laying near, then stepped onto it. From this hightened perspective he examined upper sides of carelessly stashed boxes of the lower layer. Lots of dust and fluff there, dead fat flies and a terrified spider. Two clearly distinguishable footprints like a blood on a snow were there, too.

This needed photographing, too. Lieutant glanced up, filling lungs with nicotine flavoured air. Smudgy marks on the edge of upper wooden box indicated it was lend of hand for climber palm. Significient. Wonder if a chimpansee would use such a ladder without ruining all apart. What a marvolous sense of balance the wearer of the shoes must have!

Lieutant circled in the room like a dense smoke in poorly ventilated public toilet. Lots of rubbish here and there, rusty tire iron, strange leaflet, burnt out match, a few coins. Five bucks or so. Should have dissapeared quicker than single tear dropped on Texas desert sands. Somehow, it managed not to.

"He's missing one arm, Lieutant. It's nowhere here at all.", a policeman said. His voice was firm, but in dephts of his face (slight curve of the lips, sadness wells in eyes) there were repulsion and shock. Columbo patted his arm comfortingly.

"This is a very brutal murder, Phil. On upsides we can hear of this arm more, if we're lucky." he smiled, then offered the young policeman a cigar. Columbo turned at dying flames that still give a handy lighter potential. He passed by them with one long step upon a part where fire was extinguished by the lack of fuel. Lieutant strolled up the catwalk to the point where two policeman just finished their chalk-work.

"He's got his driving licence... freshly expired since 12th. He has apartment keys also... _Skyline_ no 2. Some cash... Small all-bloodied notebook.", one of the officers was scrupulatly listing the found personal items.

Lieutant Columbo bite on a cigar and shook a hand in pointing-like manner.

" _Skyline_." he put more weight on the other leg and walked around the chalked part in steady stroll. "Aye. Decent cost, nice rooms. Working elevator. My nephew used to rent a flat there, well before he moved to Nevada.", Lieutant chatted. Looking at the body from the new perspective he breathed deeper for better dose of smoke. "His name is?" he asked, glancing over the younger cop's elbow at the few deceased's belongings.

"Milton. S. Milton, to be exact."

"I've knew one Milton. Quite long time no seen, though. He had a garage and good hand for old cars." Columbo said and asked for the notebook. Blood-soaked little cheap book included a few phone numbers, each marked with one or two initial letters. Only the last one was undescribed.

Use all little trace you have. Lieutant copied all the handnotes carefully on a scrap of breakfast paper. Returned the notebook with due thank you, then casually walked down at the lower floor. He left the crime scene and whole old warehouse building. Lieutant lend his weight on peeling-paint metal barriers for a while as he looked at dark, narrow alleyes dimly lighted with old petrol-barrels made bonfires. A number of homeless folk was gathering around these latterens of warm and light. Sharp, unhealthy cough was comming from some throats. Columbo stepped down the few stairs and walked in search of phone booth, which as he recalled should have been behind that corner. He messily searched through his pockets in pursuit of spare coins.

Squeezed inside smelly, graffity-filled booth he chose the first number. Pressing the breakfast paper with list of Milton contacts to the wall and the phone between his own ear and arm, he made a talk work. Half of numbers didn't answer. The fourth was a female, though low husky voice. Murder is not a kind of news anyone should receive via phone, so Columbo spared her the brutal truth for now. Her name was Murietta and she seemed very determined. As soon as she learnt he was from the police, Murietta insisted she's willing to pay the bailout for Milton.

"This won't be necessery", Columbo assured.

The girl was really cooperative. She confessed her worries that Sean surely have got into trouble again, as he left her a message he was going to stay low for a while. Downtown was known as gangs fights area. Murietta suspected he was looking for some diry work or maybe sought protection from some criminals with grudge against him. Hard life to be in love with such a cad. She said it in passionate manner. Lieutant asked if they have children, and the question startled her, yet she answered she wished to. He comforted her as well as he could, that is quite successfully, so that Murietta hanged off slightly raised on her spirits, capable of not to worry too much this late at night. The dawn will bring a new day and new hope.

The last number of the list was the reception of Luckee Star hotel in Holywood. Mild male voice under name of Hatter asked whom to dial with. Lieutant presented himself and asked if anyone have rented a room today or a day before. Hatter seemed a bit offensed, claiming there's rush in hotel business and his apartments are extremely popular, thus rented many months forward. But due to some sudden withdrawal of one or two bookings, there actually were two freshly accomodated guests. One arrived tonight and took the room no. six, the other came yesterday to reside in room no. two. The latest one seem really frightened, like a devil would step on his heels. Quite oppositely, another was buisness-like man with foreign accent and well-bred dogs, wolf-type like, accompanying him. Mr Hatter talked much and easly, with some novelism mannerism. Lieutant Columbo promised he'd come by at morning and thanked for cooperation.

* * *

Having left the stuffy and substantially smoke-filled phone booth Lieutant Columbo took a new cigar, back-relying on the booth wall. He would really use some coffee. He strolled back near the crime scene warehouse, but with no intention to actually revisit it. He drifted towards old barrel bonfire instead. Ring of ragged, coughing people broke. All pale faces with big eyes in crescent-down sockets turned at him.

"Chilly night tonight." he greeted them and took off a thermos flask from dephts of some secure pocket of his coat.  
"Have any cups? Cans do work fine. Will gain heat, though.", asked while twisting off the upper part. Filled it halfway with steaming, sweet coffe his wife lovingly prepared for him. Handed the cup-part to the nearest lady beggar. "Please enjoy."

A short hussle and a bit of rush followed, when people by the bonfire start talking and bringing cups of all sorts to have a share in immensely tasty, rich coffee, as nutrisious and spirits lifting as a coffe can do. One of few happy surprises they had for many days and nights. It was September and weather wasn't really pleasent. Not at all.

As for unfortunate, grim surpises Lieutant learnt they had plentiful of.

"Old Tin Can Bill died. Poor fellow. He got barkin' mad, but decent old scum."

"I'll miss him too, I will." sighted an elderly lady cluthing a big bag which gave metalic noises with every move.

"The flu took him. At his age... at his age! Guess he got too wet in sewers. Very unhealthy at this time of the year." added another coarse-bearded man.

"Pity he ended such. Raving about monsters, yellow eyes and hemorroidhs-man."

"Lost his mind, lost his mind. Life is a bitch, and then you die."

"For all the cans he found, he shouldn't risk that much. Not worth that."

Lieutant symphatised with them and, up to some point, with the disease victim. He was familiar with corpses on regular basis. Homicide district in LA was ever quite busy. Sometimes murders are camoufladged into something as ordinary looking as passing away of elderly people.

"That murder there in that building. Creepy bloody horror!", a scabby man spit at the fire and shrunk.

"What you know about it?", Lieutant asked curiously but casually. He could be effordlessly gentle. Was like second, or maybe the first, skin to him.

"Hmh, not much. Guy was ripped apart, missing head, arms, everything... Impaled on some timber piece. Looks like bloody gang revenge. Tis traitor for sure!"

Someone left his place in the around-bonfire ring to get directly near Columbo.

"I know something, good sir." said late fifties old man with wispy beard. His blue, icy eyes were filled with rising terror of haunting memories. Columbo instinctively put a palm on his arm in kind of reassurement.

"I was there at the time it happened." the man said. His companiones gave some shhes and plain suggestions he's just making himself trouble with too easy exuberance. Lieutant wordlessly put a handfull of spare cash in his palm. Phone calls weren't as costly as it could.

"There's warmer inside, y'know, and I heard two men comming. I was afraid they may be owners or sumthing, so I hide." the man was confessing looking at the Lieutant's face with childlike fear and trust, mixed together.

"Two men came and hanged out a while there, I got woried they'll stay for good. But they grew impatient. Were waiting fore someone and he wasn't comming." the story followed.

"One of them came out to dial him. The other stayed alone. And.. and..." the man gasped. In the small crowd there was tension, too, uncomfortable expectance. They surely have already heard this history. Probably the witness screamed about it to them.

"A new man appeared, like, raised from the shadows! He grabed that waiting man like a rag doll. I saw they knew each other. And the shadowy one made sure that that man recognised him! He... he grew huge claws and... tore apart that man... slowly. He screamed, so horribly screamed, and I thought I would scream too but I couldn't. I've seen everything. The claw man pierced the other, just nailed him on that wooden part and waited a good while, and tore his head off."

The man closed his eyes and sighed heavily, then opened up an finished:  
"Then the clawman hid the claws and went outside. I waited and prayed he wouldn't come back. The other man, that who wanted to phone, didn't come back, too. I escaped... I couldn't stay there longer... With this corpse... and..."

The witness looked aside, gulped, brought upon some internal decision before sternly finished:  
"That's when the girl came. She asked me what had happened. I told her. I begged her to flee. She was so self-composed, brave girl! She gave me some bucks and said to flee myself. I saw her leaving before the police came. Maybe she dialed them, I don't know."

Columbo shifted his weight a bit, put some grasp pressure on witness's arm in due emphasise and gestrued with the other hand implying the importance.  
"What was she look like?" he asked.

The man licked his lips and furrowed his eyebrows. "Well never got a decent look..." he started and glanced at Lieutant. Then he gave up:  
"She had beautifull light eyes, amber like. Nice face, long face, straight nose, pretty brown hair down her shoulders. She wore dark skirt and matching jumper. Was a bit bookworm type, if you get what I mean." he waved a head confidently a few times.

He considered for a while, concluded, then added: "Was twenty-something. Could be my daughter. If I had any children."

Columbo patted his arm and said: "You've been most helpfull. Here, have some more coffee. Anyone a second round? "

They all were willing.

* * *

Roughly by the time the chat with homeless people was concluded, the police forces were withdrawing from the crime scene. All possible clues were secured and well-photographed. Body was sent to autopsy, even though the cause of death was painfully obvious. Ripping to pieces. The question is, what tool was used with such devastating effectivness.

Few man from forces were sent to investigate the Milton place at _Skyline_. There could be some further clues about deceased last contacts, actions, plans and wishes. Lieutant Columbo didn't want to go and take a look, though, much to many cops' surprise. Homeless men weren't the only one for unpleasent surprises this night. Yet Columbo has his own technique and much freedom left, and sometimes he's needed somehere where others would surelly fail. Overlooking brings a great weight when it comes to crimes.

* * *

Shortly later this night Lieutant Colombo visited the _Luckee Star_ hotel. Contrary to previous promise, he actually ended up there in the middle of the nighttime. He was humbly sorry for such untimely showing, yet the man in the reception room was more than happy to see him. He actually have counted off quarters impatiently, eager to the visit expected at morning.

Mr Hatter was a plumpy man around forties. He glanced at Lieutant with clear, intense hope.  
"I'm happy I could help, Lieutant. I don't meet policemen very often, as it's quiet and uneventfull here. Work in Homicide must be exciting! All action-filled car chases, the shootings, the restless haunding! I'm a bit of writer, you know, and I'm always hungry for inspiration..." look of eyes from behind thick glasses became shyly pleading.

"I would so much appreciate if you be so kind and talk a bit about interesting, blood-filled cases?" he hardly hid excitement.

Columbo smiled and ducked a bit, saying that each case is interesting on its own and that siergant Murphy is a way better chatter. Allowed to be slightly pressed further. Then he talked about the commited crime where the murderer arranged his plan in a way to make people believe he was murdered, only to strike the framed target and kill, so it look like revenge taken by his desperated lover whom he got bored of. Mr Hatter was delighted.

* * *

They were chatting a bit lower-voice about the new hotel guests afterwards. Then the main doors opened and a new night-person came in the hall. Receptionist momentarly assumed a more dignificant pose and ask if he could help with anything. Lieutant looked at the newcomer and found out that he got to like her.

Amber eyes, dark medium long hair, the persistance and hounding skill both strong enough so she kept the pace. The girl from murder witness testimony put elbows on reception desk and chatted with Mr Hatter matter-of-factly, drifting steadly on various subjects. She encharmed him with her interest in his writting hobby. Flattered, he got extensively talktive about new, vital, shocking material about modern age real vampiress ("No sparkle-like copycats, I'll put some fresh air to the subject!") and his very creative friend from Santa Monica who has abundance of great ideas.

"Interesting. I'd love to meet the friend of yours. Maybe I'd be a suporting character in your book?", the girl said. Suddenly Hatter sulked a bit. Wasn't like confessing.  
The girl gave a sharp look at Lieutant.

"No, no, it's not me. I can hardly imagine a pink rhino, I'm no good in plot plotting." he passed with simplicty and unfightable smile. "Vampires are fascinating subject, though." he added looking at her in a way which could cause second thougts. Or maybe the thing is with his strange eyes.

"In literature... they're quite flat a motive. Such predictable." she moved on known waters glancing at him curiously. Lieutant put an elbow on a desk and his cheek on the fist, so his forearm become a pillar for the head. Squeezed cheek gave him a chubby look.

"They'd make a perfect murderer, Miss." he said lazily. Mr Hatter intersected with eyes glowing with excitement.

"Yes! Combination of crime fiction and supernatural vampire urban fantasy!" he exclaimed. "That's powerful!" he began hastely, with shaking fingers, looking through drawers for some pen and paper.

"Excuse me I had to write down the bare ideas... I think I have basic plot line! Julius will be delighted!" Hatter breathed with the creative passion. Then he bent over, writing hastely and nearly unreadably.

"Good idea for fiction." the girl admitted with stern nod of the head. She regreted for a while she had nothing to drink. It would be perfect to dignificantly sip a cup of tea now. On the other hand, it would cause her to vomit. Messy to clean, totally unworthy the trouble.

"Reality can get tricky, too" said Columbo vividly. "Sometimes you simply don't know how to bite it." he shook a head slowly, putting a hand flatly on the desk. "Nice chatting, Miss. Do excuse me, I got to see my friend now." Lieutant added.

She raised an eyebrow in well practiced manner.  
"Now? In the middle of the night?" she doubted. Mr Hatter forgot the whole world around him.

"That's right. I guess he hasn't slept a wink tonight." Columbo confirmed serenely.

He walked to the inside door, which lead to the patio garden. In the center one could see an empty swimming pool. Two symetrically constructed staircases lead to a number of guest rooms, all located on exclusive upper floor. Lieutant Columbo climbed silently and in good pace. He most probably would make a good catburglar, as long as heights wouldn't be too high. Lieutant found the door marked with huge, bronze number six and knocked repeatedly.

"No need. I've got a key." said a self-confident voice from behind. He looked behind his arm, then turned to her. The girl has an elusive smile on her face.

"That would be a break-in, Miss." Columbo warned in serious tone and with one finger. "Strictly illegal, I'm afraid."

She looked at him sternly.  
"No it wouldn't. I have the key." she didn't fight a trace of irritation as if from speaking with dumb.

"Well, you're most probably right. May I take a look?", he capitulated. She shrugged a bit, impatiently.

"What for?" she asked mildly harshly.

"Oh, no reason, really. Nothing much important. I just wondered maybe your key is to number nine, not six. The numbers look the same when inverted." he was talking extensively in half-embarassed clumsy manner. The amber eyed girl opened a palm flatly and glanced at the keyset with eyes narrowed from the lack of light.

"Let me see." said Columbo softly, before taking the key from her hand in one smooth move. He raised it up his eye, glanced at it for maybe half a second, then asked:  
"Where did you get it from, Miss?"

She sucessfully looked uncareing.

"Ehm... He gave it to me so that I could come in anytime I want." she said bluntly, raising head defiantly. Columbo scratched his temple with fingertips still clutchning the keyring.

"Oh. That's interesting. You see, there is blood on this key and pendant." he noticed, raising eyes at her. There was a moment of silence.

"Is it? Hadn't known!" she reacted a bit late with clumsy mild panicosa manner.

"I don't think it is your blood. Miss." he continued with degree of certainity that could be alarming. She half-consiously clenched both fists, while arms loosely let along body.

"Will you open bloody door please? It's a cold night." she scolded with better acting result than the moment before. Lieutant looked embarassed. Why of course, he was sorry to put her such carelessly in discomfort position. He began to clumsily handle with the lock.

"Go away! I don't know her! She's lieing! You came to kill me, kill me too!" a desperate voice shouted from behind the door.

Lieutant frowned and instinctively raised a hand in soothing manner. It doesn't work well through untransparent door though.

"We know you're hunted, but we're after the hunter." he said loudly and forcefully enough to drive through mad desperation.  
"Lieutant Columbo, police, and Miss..." he glanced back at the girl. She hesitated for a second.  
"Just Miss." Columbo finished at her reluctance.  
"Here's the badge. Take a look." he kept talking to the closed door, withdrawing his policeman duty legitimation with the spare hand.  
"You stay alone inside, he'll come and get you. I've found you in a few hours. How long do you think will he take to catch you?"

Inarticulated moan came from behind the door.

The girl put a hand on Lieutant's shoulder firmly.

"He won't let us in. Gonna be alright if I'll come first, you follow." she said in low, husky whisper. Usually this was very persuasive.

"No. He'll be insanely afraid if we do this." Columbo resisted the idea, looking at her plainly. Then a silent click of a lock followed and the doors opened up a bit. Pale, sweating face with widered eyes appeared.

"I beg you. I don't want this fear anymore." the man pleaded.  
"I shouldn't ever kill them... Now he brought me living hell..." he whispered, pressing the body to the wall in plain attempt of sulking.

"We should move." the girl suggested matter-of-factly.  
"Or maybe... just run."

The shivering figure shake his head and raised a small gun he was carrying. Lieutant steadly lend a hand to gently disarm the Milton's friend.  
"Come with us, not much choice left. You'll give the testimony, try and get rest, then we'll pin him down. That's a promise." Columbo said.

Shaken murderer, to-be-victim licked dry lips.  
"He comes at night."

Lieutant Columbo regarded the man with non-colinear glance.

"Be certain I shan't sleep him through."

Fragile figure became slightly less shakey. Reluctantly it moved outside the room no. six. The man could be phisically intimidating if not so nerve wrecked.

"Oh, Mr Milton's pal, one more thing..." Columbo said halfway down the stairs, scratching forehead in a troubled gestrue. "You are under arrest."

* * *

"You drive this?!" the girl snarled.  
"What's the use of being a cop, if you don't get uniform, gun and police car? I don't buy it." she metaphoricaly bit.

"Well yes, these are all handy things, Miss." Columbo admitted, trying to make his car in motion. "I'm not really good at handling them, though."

The old, scratched, spluttering 1950 Peugeot lit and moved onto Holywood roads quite smoothly for its years and state. The third passenger was trying to hide under the second row seats. Mildly irritated girl used them as a coach, then.

"I have a question." she said after a few minutes of uneventfull drive.  
"How can you know I'm not the Slasher Killer? It's sexist you know?" she asked airily.

Lieutant looked at her with sheer surprise, while trying to control the vehicle. It worked.  
"You? No, Miss, no, it's not plausible. As much as you have well groomed nails, it's long way from claws." he reasoned with perfect seriousness. She smirked.

"What so funny, eh?" said offended voice from below car seats.  
"Like, funny to scary big old Mike. You're crazies. I still don't know your name, b...baby!" the arrested went on with stumped irritation.

Miss gave a light, pearlike laugh.  
"Why, of course. I'm FLEGGLINDE. Guess why I'm shy to introduce myself." she said with trace of satisfaction.

The driver also answered, almost absent-mindly:  
"Lieutant Columbo." He scratched his mandible and asked casually:  
"I guess your name reads with double G?"

The Fledgeling blinked.  
"Yes. Yes, it is. Why?"

"No, nothing. I just thought so."

* * *

Scene of fights abundant with physical agression are blissfully absent in Columbo series. Even serial killers and their self-appointed Nemezis are restricted by guidelines of well self-behaviour.  
Old, failure-like, almost zombie-form of Columbo's car drove sucessfully all way from Hollywood to the Santa Monica by the ocean coast. There Lieutant asked his arrestant, presumably Mike Smith, where it all had begun. The hunted man answered plainly it was Brothers Salvage junkyard. The brothers were Mitch Iberson and Mike Mateo, as their father was actually Mateo Iberson and had quite a quirked sense of humour. The place was vast, but didn't looked like, because of plenty car wreckages stashed here for disemboding. Among junk there were fridges, stoves, dishwashers, stereos and yachts to be found. Near the entrance a small shed stood, a janitor's place filled with pitiful furniture. Tonight there was noone on guard. With the dead of owners the place slowly crampled into deeper degree of ruination.

They played the bait. Mike S. was waiting by the toilet room wall, the only wall that can't be smashed directly from the building's outside. Lieutant Columbo was keeping an eye on him. He played darts a bit, too. The Fledgeling claimed she can't stand the pressure and came outside, where she circled and patrolled the area expectantly. Mike believed she simply run off, he demanded more policemen to protect him and compulsively checked time every five seconds, looking forward the sunrise. Eventually all matters were solved long before morning. When Lieutant gave the rest of his coffee to Mike ("It's still warm"), as he had hardly more to offer, the mixture of sleep depravation, coffeine, sugar and tensed nerves resulted in pressing a standby button of the living body. The man fell into deep, snoring sleep. So Columbo went to park his car somewhere more suitably.

* * *

This fight was tough. It didn't have to end like this! At first the killer came out to talk. He wanted her to give him that human, Mike. She almost was willing to. It would spare so much trouble and people die every day. Mike was himself a murderer atop of that. Still, for some hardly explainable reason, she attemped to talk Slasher down. It worked up to some point. Right before he got berserk.

Now it was over.

Amber eyed girl bent panting from an old habit (and old habits die hard) as if after long run when she was still alive. Wearyly, she traced a hand through brown, medium lenght hair and wept some blood from deep scratches Slasher's claws made. It will all regrow... given time...

She slowly straightened her back to full height and her eyes rested at the very familiar looking car. It was in terrible shape even among genuine wreckages. Inside, on the front passenger seat, with door wide opened and both feet on the ground, Columbo was sitting. After a moment of short mental diffuse she noticed that on the Lieutant's car's roof another car is lying messily wheels up. Must have been accidentally thrown there by enraged Slasher in his attempt to crush her. Yet Columbo should be in the shed, right? His car was parked by the gates, correct? Why things, and people (if you think about that) never go as she want them to? She gritted her teeth.

* * *

"Lieutant... You know you know too much.", Fledgeling said looking at the witness omniously. Witnesses are obviously witty, if they surivive. Quite a startling thought.

"You probably are right, Miss." Columbo answered to that, relying his hand on a knee. He was looking straight at the girl, with a smile, so steady and strangely thoughtfull even if so simple. Fledgeling loathed the idea of killing the man here and there, no bestial primal urges rushed her to new bloodshed. She was feeling the slight tension, the unmistakenable sign of vampire body half-deprived from blood. The fight with Slasher was as tough as it was scary. She would never admit her fear, but such a horror will haunt her in her day sleep. She licked her lips and walked closer, straight at the pretty ruined car.

"I wanna show you something..."

"Miss, I am married."

That caused her to stop. Before she gathered thoughts to actually explain in sufficiently dim and discreet manner, Lieutant said calmly and casually:

"Let us just leave each one's own way... You straight under bloodmoon, me back to my work, my wife and life." She glanced at him suspiciously.

"You don't want to live forever?", she mused with astonishment flavoured with temptation.

"Say, like him?" he pointed at pile of soft ashes. "My wife would be dead worried. She keeps saying one day some muderer will kill me."

She couldn't resist a slightly fanged smile. "How about a murderer's murderer?"

He hesitated, "Miss, I saw it. It was self-defense. Besides", he leaned and lighted a cigar. "you're no cold blooded criminal, Miss. I'm sorry you've been murdered, and I'm not going to burden you with forced parenthood."

She straightened her back, clenched teeth so that small cheeck muscles tensed and she almost hissed.  
"If I let you free... they'll kill me." she emphasised.

Lieutant waved a hand in definitely explicite gestrue.  
"Oh no, LaCroix needs you, Straus got sentimental because of your sire, Nines is not a lady boxer type, and you can count on old Jack he'll cover your back. You're not alone, Miss. Not alone."

"How did?..." she gasped, half breath even though undead.

"Well. I talk to people and people talk to me." he smiled simply.

Lieutant came out of the car clumsily, shut the door and traced a curve of car's roof gentely with open palm. He was ready to leave, so put a few casually decisive steps towards the gates. Suddenly Columbo stopped and looked back, scratching his temple with fingertips.

"Just one more thing, Miss." he turned sharply over his heel. "Please don't forget your dear mother. Let her know you're not dead. It's unimaginably painful to her. Letting her believing is just as cruel. You're not a beast, you know."

Fledgling felt that for once there is nothing smart to say.

"I... yeah I'll arrange that." she whispered with dry lips and dry throat.  
"I promise."

She glanced at him through her Auspex and had to blink.

"I'll have a taxi I guess. Goodbye, Miss."


End file.
